Origins
by MadameLovely
Summary: This story follows the life and times of our favorite Lance Corporal, from his tragic beginnings to the Survey Corps. Rated appropriately for explicit situations, triggering content, and swearing. [Cover Image not mine.]
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:**_ This is a Levi Origins story that may or may not include an OC romance later, that or Rivetra. As of right now, however, it's just a basic story of how our favorite Lance Corporal came to be. Anyone following my "Voyage" Story can clearly see it's on hiatus. I'm not sure when or if I'll pick that up but I do plan on finishing in the future… hopefully… yeah.

_**Warning:**_ THIS STORY CAN BE TRIGGERING. Blood, suggestions of sexual abuse, and explicit content are definitely applicable. You have been warned.

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing but any OCs I create.

_Chapter One_

"Papa," called the eight year old boy as he entered his small cottage home just on the outskirts of Sina. "Papa, I found you a present for your birthday!" Even as he raised his voice to be heard, no one called back to him, but the boy did not grow wary as would be advised. No, instead he ventured forward with such blissful glee at thought of his father beaming at the frog in his hand he couldn't think of anything else.

"Mama! Papa!" he practically screamed, but no one called back to him. Placing the frog in his pocket, he opened the door to his house and headed straight for his parents' bedroom. But as he drew closer, he noticed mud all over the walls and wooden floors.

_Were they playing outside too_? he wondered with a small frown. _Why didn't they come find me?_

The frog rustled around in his cotton pocket before hopping out, giving the boy a soft "ribbit!" before bouncing away toward the front room. He would have chased after him, had he not been more concerned with the fact his parents hadn't invited him to play.

Were they mad he had left the house without permission? It was only to find his father a gift; now that gift had run away, and he had no proof of his hard work. Now they would be particularly angry, and he was afraid of his possible punishment.

His parents' bedroom door was ajar, and gently he pushed it in—then threw it open to fully reveal the scene before him.

_That… isn't… mud… _

His father was hanging from a ceiling beam, his neck clearly broken and slashed open, his eyes wide with fear and pain, but glossed over with the evident appearance of death. His mother lay on the bed, clothes tossed aside, ankles bound by what looked like his father's ties, each laced onto the bed post. Her mouth hung open, blood pooling from it and onto the pillow beneath her head as well as the once clean, white sheets.

The boy couldn't even scream. Couldn't move. He could only bring himself to stare at his dead parents, the people who loved him and took care of him and reared him to be as curious and loving as possible. Those people he depended on the most, they were gone, and that wasn't sinking in very well—almost not at all.

A part of his young heart wanted to deny the wretched scene before him. There was no way his parents could be out of his life right now, not while he was still young and needing them. And how could they allow themselves to die anyway?

_How did this happen?_

As a single tear slipped from his eye and down his cheek, he heard footsteps coming up behind him.

"In here, Lenny. There's a shit-ton o' goods, but I can't get to 'em. The damn glass is, like, unbreakable and the lock don't wanna open up."

"I got you, Doug, I got you."

Panicking, the boy slid under the bed and curled up as tightly as possible, holding a hand over his mouth and one nostril. He didn't want them, whoever they were, to know he was here.

"That case?" asked the second man, Lenny. "I think I can do it."

"Sure hope so, if you want any of these profits," commented Doug. They didn't even seem fazed by the dead people within touching distance of them. They must have committed the crime—or at least associated with those people. Either way, the boy continued to stay as still as possible and keep his breathing to a minimum.

It was over an hour before there was a click and the sound of old hinges scraping against one another. Then the clanking of gold and brass valuables vibrated against the ground, slightly muffled. The boy deduced they were putting them in something. They left shortly after, still talking casually as if they hadn't been in the same room as his dead parents.

He didn't move then, however. He didn't whenever he heard the front door close. He didn't when the light from the window started to fade. He didn't when the smell of his parents started to fill the room. It was only after it was long dark, and he'd had a good cry, did the boy dare to remove himself from his hiding spot.

Next, he stumbled to his own room, still crying, but adrenaline pushing him forward. He had to press his hands against the wall even to slightly steady himself. In his room, he grabbed his messenger bag used for school and dumped the contents onto his bed. Then he stuffed it with as many necessities as possible.

Just as he was about to close it did he notice the filth on his hands. He ground his teeth together, the tears now hot against his reddened skin. He went into the guest bathroom and rinsed his hands of his parents' blood and the dust that had been under their bed. But no matter how much he washed his hands, the image of their blood on them still remained.

_He would never be clean again, but he would certainly try. _

The boy rushed outside, his messenger bag close to his side, giving his home, the place that once held warmth and comfort and now a terrible memory, one more glance running down the nearest path.

**He didn't know where it would take him, but he hoped it was where he needed to be next.**

_**A/N:**_ So this chapter was clearly short, but I anticipate them being longer in the future. Thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:**_ Hey AUehara! Thanks for following my story! Means a lot.

_**Song Inspiration:**_ Beating Heart – Ellie Goulding

_**Chapter Two**_

Two years passed since that dreadful day, but the young boy turning into an adolescent man tried very hard not to think about that. He had more important things to worry about.

_Like surviving._

He had tried to stay within his district, but had been chased out many a-time by the neighbors. They had heard news of what happened, and some even had the audacity to accuse him. Some said the murders were connected to his existence, while others actually thought it was he who would do such an act to his one and only family.

The young man ignored the rumors and tried to go about his life the only way he had taught himself how.

_Stealing._

Those first few months on his own were rough. He didn't know how to properly steal—since before he didn't really have to relent to a life of crime in order to survive—so he consistently got caught and thrown into a cell overnight for what he did. But as time went on, he started turning it into an art form.

First, he would trick passers-by into believing he was more helpless than he actually was; the months on the streets hardened both his body and his heart, and made him stronger in the process. It didn't hurt that he was also a great actor. Just as their guards were completely on the ground, collapsed at his feet, he would take what he needed and took off running, never looking back. That would be his biggest mistake before—he would gaze back as if there was anything left for him to see, and thus causing him to stumble. Now he knew better.

_**Much **_better.

At age ten, he had caught the attention of not only law enforcement, but also gangs around the underground. He had forced himself "downstairs" as the locals called it only because he had nowhere else to go, and no one really wanted him around.

"Kid," approached an older gentleman in garb just as raggedy as his own, though he clearly had more layers. That was a strong indication he had some type of superiority. "What's your name?"

He never gave out his last name. Day by day, as survival took over his mind, he started forgetting all about it. It was probably better for the sake of his life, anyway. That name still rang large, due to the horrendous murders it had tacked onto it. "Levi," he responded in a gruff voice, bending his knees and curling his body a little more inward.

Levi was always on the defensive. He felt like at any moment he would be attacked, whether by another thief or some pervert thinking he was some helpless little boy, or just someone trying to take their aggression out on the young man.

The man noticed this and raised his hands in surrender. "I'm not here to hurt ya, Levi. I want to do a little bit o' business with ya."

"What kind?" He looked up through his thick black bangs, his hair having grown passed his shoulders at this point. He used an old cloth to tie it back, but that didn't really help with the mess in front of his face. His father used to cut it into a simple bob, his bangs all but eliminated. It was times like this, little moments that led to pushed-back memories, when he missed his parents the most.

"I can give you shelter, some food, the goods, ya know the whole hook up."

"And?"

"You just gotta serve me."

There it was—the big "but" that he dreaded most. He wasn't too keen on working for others, for it usually left to a lot of injury and sometimes even death. And as some dirty little kid in the underground with no family to speak of, if he happened to disappear, no one would miss him.

But Levi was becoming horribly desperate for some type of stability. And though deep in his gut he knew this would be a bad idea, he found himself standing up and extending his hand to the man.

Instead of shaking it, the man slapped the boy's hand away, chuckling. "First order of business, go upstairs and get us some money, won't ya?"

Already, he was regretting it. They knew him "upstairs". They knew his face and what he had done in the past. It was bound to get him chased and locked up again. But now that he'd already made this silent pact with this criminal, he technically had no choice, not until he "paid in full". Even though the man had given him nothing (yet, and may never will), Levi had already indebted himself to him, and he was obligated (with his own life, unfortunately) to pay him back.

Turning on his dirty heel, he headed through the narrow passageways of the underground and up the wide steps that led to the inside of Wall Sina. Making a sharp turn, he went for the marketplace, the area in which would hold the most money to steal.

It was peek shopping hour, and the place was packed. Not only with people, but also with military. He held his breath, sent a silent prayer to his parents and an apology for what he was about to do, then he darted through the crowd with such speed it was almost impossible for anyone to see him.

When he did this, he basically just grabbed and dashed, not bothering to see what it was he put into his many pockets and up his sleeves. He had only gotten caught once when he did this, the very first time, and just like any time before his main mistake was turning around when he should have just kept on forward.

One military officer spotted him and started chasing after him. With a soft yelp, he bent down and sped through the crowd again, heading toward a fire escape he frequently used for a quick getaway. He climbed it rather agilely, despite the cumbersome items he carried on his person, and leapt from one roof to the other until he was relatively close to the underground's entrance. Finally, Levi dismounted from his last building and entered the lip of the underground, still keeping his gaze forward and himself low and close to the wall. No way was he going to let down his guard; he wasn't that stupid.

He found the man from before, stood in front of him, and dropped his loot, every last bit. "Anything else?" he asked through gritted teeth, a creepy smile forming.

The man gaped at the treasure before him, blinking rapidly and shaking his head in disbelief. "How about my name in exchange for all this shit huh? And a hot meal." Now the man decided to hold his hand out to Levi. "Christopher Church. We're going to get along perfectly fine, Levi."

_**A/N:**_ If you're not familiar with the side manga "A Choice With No Regrets", then you won't understand the reference Christopher comes from. Once again, short chapter, but it was longer than the last so whoop on that. You get a better glimpse of Levi as he turns from privileged child to angry survivor in a very short amount of time. R&R and all that. Later.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N:**_ I actually wrote this chapter in the middle of class. Three pages, front and back ha!

_**Chapter Three**_

It had been a long two months. Levi spent all of that time stealing, perfecting his art, if you will. Sure, he'd caught the attention of the Military Police, but to Christopher's astonishment and pride, other gangs as well.

When a certain gang obtained more fame and property than others, they were considered elite—and dangerous. More property means it needed more protection.

So, to decide who would join his gang, Christopher offered up a "tournament" of sorts. The thing was, tournaments in the underground were amongst the most dangerous events within the entirety of Trost. People would kill each other to be in an infamous gang like Christopher's.

The night before the tournament, Christopher and Levi were eating along, as the leader requested. This alone made the ten-year-old nervous. He ate quickly; he wouldn't allow the eighteen-year-old to take away what he'd rightfully earned. But it was rather evident Christopher held no intention of stealing it back.

"Kid."

Levi paused on his last morsel, looking up from his food between long bangs.

"I don't need you choking on your dinner. Slow down."

Tentatively, he set his food back on the table. "Okay…"

"First off, I need to formally thank you. You've made me a famous man. Our gang goes needing less. I'm impressed."

"Thanks." Admittedly, the boy was surprised. "What else did you need?"

"A boy who likes to get down to business, I like that." Taking a sip of his hard ale, Christopher continued. "Judge this tourney with me."

Levi gaped. "What?"

"I don't like fucking repeating myself, Kid. You know that."

The first time he'd "made" Christopher repeat something, it had earned him a beating that left him immobile for two days. He absolutely knew the leader didn't like going over things again.

"Sorry," he said quickly, then added, "But why? Why me?"

"Because everything that's happened is because of you."

The boy shrugged; it was true.

….

Levi tried his best not to feel a sense of pride because of the position he was put in. He shouldn't have thought it, but he felt things were starting to _finally_ look up for him.

A part of him wished his parents were here to watch him, then he would remember why he was in this situation in the first place. He ignored the sadness trying to consume him and followed Christopher to "The Ring".

The Ring was a deadly place in the underground. It was a rocky, shallow body of water caged off by old, moldy (no doubt, stolen) rope. An abandoned waterfall, a small opening that rain water could come in to replenish the stony pond, was the only source of light—if events were held at the right time, that is. Old chairs were scattered about, but too many people had come today, long outnumbering them.

All the various districts were here. Each underground "territory" was split into districts, much like upstairs, though they used a simpler code: colors. Green, Yellow, Red, Orange, Black, White and ,Levi's District, Blue.

Levi took his place, standing on Christopher's right.

"Look at all these bastards, kid!" he chuckled, slapping him playfully (and _**hard**_) on the back. "And it's all thanks to you!"

Levi couldn't stop the smile on his face. He'd come such a long way in the past two years; he couldn't believe all he'd accomplished.

"First up: Charles from Red District and Levi from Blue District!"

Levi's heart stopped—then sped up dramatically. "I can't fight!" he spat, looking to his leader.

Christopher shrugged, waving his hand dismissively. "I don't like to repeat myself, kid."

Grinding his teeth together, Levi allowed the young man's Left-Hand thug to lead him to the middle. His feel sloshed in the shallow, dirty water, much like the noise of slush working around in his head.

Loser was left to fend for himself—if he lived. He had come a long way, sure, but not enough to avoid being in a gang.

The other man, clearly bigger and stronger than himself, laughed, other surrounding him following suit. "Not even a challenge!"

Levi's escort placed a hand on Charles' shoulder. "Welcome to the team."

"You know how this shit goes," called Christopher from the sidelines. "Winner joins. Loser dies—if he's lucky!"

At this, the crowd and Charles chortled, but Levi didn't. _Couldn't_. This was going to be his end.

_See you soon, Mama, Papa…_

"Go!"

Charles charged and brought his hand up to plow Levi ring in the face, undoubtedly with enough force to kill him.

_**Then something clicked inside the youth.**_

His gears worked at rapid speed, his muscles tensed, and his face hardened into a nonchalant expression.

Just as Charles was about to deliver a deadly blow, Levi lurched forward and, with the same lithe fingers as when he stole pouches off of people's waists, he unhooked the bigger man's belt. Then, as if he were climbing a fire escape, he hopped onto Charles' back. The man reached around for the boy, but his arms were too voluminous to do so.

Levi took the belt and looped it around Charles' neck, the buckle hugging his jugular. With all his might, he pulled, not stopping when Charles gasped, not when he flopped onto the ground, not when the large man's body convulsed erratically, but only when his body had completely stilled for several moments. Amidst the dark quiet, the ten-year-old released the belt from his calloused fingers and looked up to his leader.

He did not laugh at the irony of this whole situation. He did not even smile at his unbelievable victory.

"Debt paid," was all he said before turning on his heel and hopping off the ogre, the crowd dispersing to let him through.

It was after this victory he never smiled again, _**for he was not cursed enough to smile in the face of death.**_

_**A/N:**_ Believe it or not this is the shortest chapter I've written, but it had so much going on I hope no one has noticed, ha! Thanks for reading, see you in the next chapter. Next time we'll start exploring the life and times of adolescent Levi. How will survival and hormones work together to keep this young man alive?


End file.
